


Marvel Eaglecrest and the Red Solo Cup of Fireball

by Bohemienne



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU of a fanon construct from a different fandom, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, American House of Witchcraft and Wizardry, EAGLECREST, Gen, I cannot believe I doulaed this cursed child into the world with my own two cheeto-stained hands, Salt, Teenage Drama, crackfic, glitterbeards, i am so so sorry, lots and lots of salt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7614001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bohemienne/pseuds/Bohemienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter and Marvel Cinematic Universe memes, roughly blended and poured into Eaglecrest, the fanon American wizarding school. Abominable crackfic written because someone called my bluff. I’m going to go drink an Asgardian cocktail in the Bluthyoncé bar and forget this ever happened.</p><p> </p><p>To my regular readers: I am so, so sorry. We will return to delicious Bucky angst shortly. (Red Menace starts August 4th!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marvel Eaglecrest and the Red Solo Cup of Fireball

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [EAGLECREST](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/217321) by Rave Sashayed. 



> The MCU/Eaglecrest crackfic that [LightningLaveau](http://lightninglaveau.tumblr.com) called my bluff about writing, and because I’m Laxdisick and Slytherin, I will gleefully fling myself into this challenge and right off a cliff.
> 
> Eaglecrest is a fanon version of an American witchcraft and wizardry school created by [Rave Sashayed](http://sashayed.tumblr.com), and is superior to JK Rowling’s “official” version in pretty much every possible way. No Native appropriation and erasure! Demonstrates actual understanding of American culture, values, humor, and sensibilities! Utterly ridiculous and delightful! [You can read all about Eaglecrest here.](http://sashayed.tumblr.com/tagged/eaglecrest/chrono)
> 
> I used “established” Eaglecrest fanon wherever possible but made up my own details to fill in some gaps (like the house theme songs); as this is technically a Marvel AU of a fanon version of a Harry Potter canonical entity, then yeah, there’s some freaking liberties taken.
> 
> Credit also goes to [valadilenne](http://valadilenne.tumblr.com), who helped me brainstorm this monstrosity, and gave Thor his glorious glitter beard.
> 
> Please note that I have NO INTENTION of continuing this story. I might get trashed on Asgardian cocktails in the Bluthyoncé bar and add more eventually, but don’t count on it. If you want to write your own, please feel free! I would love to see this unholy concoction of fandom collision grow and shift like some terrible fleshy virus that came off of a meteorite.
> 
> Also, PLEASE FEEL FREE to fight me about my Eaglecrest house sorting. Just know that I once derailed the entirety of Publishing Twitter for several hours by making some incendiary Hogwarts house declarations about Marvel characters. Once the flame war was good and raging, I slipped into the shadows, Zemo-like, to gaze upon my symphony of chaos and gloat.
> 
> <3 [Bohemienne](http://starandshield.tumblr.com)

“Year four.” Steve Rogers stared up at the looming presidential faces of Mount Rushmore, the home of Eaglecrest School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. “I think this is gonna be our best year yet.”

Sam Wilson grinned at him. “In fairness, that’s a pretty low bar.”

Steve paused to pick at the wedgie he was already developing from the mandatory solid-color unitard every Eaglecrest student was required to wear. Even with a pair of jeans and his leather motorcycle jacket, unitards just weren’t built for supersoldier proportions. “I know exactly what you mean,” Steve said. “But we should recap the previous years anyway.”

“Well, let’s see. Year One, our Quidditch instructor, Professor Murdock, thought it’d be a good idea to accept Hydra’s Ringpop tournament challenge. We play _real_ Quidditch, American Quidditch, without any goddamn brooms because we’re not a bunch of Eurotwats, but we thought okay, we’ll give the Ringpop way a try.”

“Right,” Steve said. “But Hydra enchanted Bucky’s broom, and sent him flying way off into the Dakota hills, where he fell to his apparent death.”

“And then it turned out Professor Schmidt, our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, was secretly growing the Red Skull right beneath his face, and you had to punch him into the next century.”

“Into the Tesseract cube, anyway.” Steve grinned. “What about Year Two?”

“Oh, man, that was rough. Someone was straight-up murdering students in cold blood. Soviet slugs, no rifling. Why fight wizards with magic when you can just shoot them instead?” Sam asked.

“And Diamond Joe got called back to Washington because he had to do something vice presidential for once, and he named his State Department buddy Pierce as acting headmaster while he was gone.”

“Which was a goddamned disaster,” Sam said. “We found out that there was a Hydra living in the subbasement behind Thomas Jefferson’s throat, and it had cast an Imperius Curse on Bucky, who was not only alive but had been given a metal arm by Hydra for some reason, and was killing all the students.”

Steve folded his arms. “Then Pierce turned out to be a Hydra agent too, and when we tried to save Bucky, the Hydra got loose, and there were just . . . tentacles. Everywhere. It was a bad time.”

“Real bad,” Sam agreed. “But I don’t really remember what happened in Year Three, because Rhodey and I weren’t really invited along except for the party in the Bluthyoncé bar, _for some reason_.”

“Why?” Steve asked.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You know why.”

“Oh. Right.” Steve clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Well, that was the year that Tony ditched his old AI familiar for a new one, only it decided it wanted to murder everyone, then the old AI turned out to be Tony’s long-lost godfather or something weird like that and we had to kill his new familiar.”

“Long-lost godfather?” Sam asked. “That makes no sense.”

“Nothing about last year made sense. Natasha was flirting with Professor Banner, for god’s sake, and we all went to Clint’s family’s farm for a house party but it seemed to last forever, like some sort of tear in the time-space continuum, and Tony’s familiar tried to rip Mount Rushmore out of the ground to throw it at people, and Bucky spent the whole year hiding in the Justitopia House rafters eating plums and feeling bad about what he did in Year Two . . . I think we were all under some sort of low-key Imperius Curse.”

“About the only part that made sense was when Diamond Joe sat Tony down, looked him in the eye, and said, ‘Champ, I know you can do better.’”

“Hardly seems like fair punishment for letting his murderbot try to kill us all,” Steve said.

“Yeah, well, Diamond Joe was Shrugstagram with a Laxdisick minor when he was a student here. Not everyone can be Justitopian like us.”

“Their loss!”

“Speaking of, Mister _Head Boy_ of Justitopia,” Sam said, and Steve blushed. “Ready for our annual opening-day protest of the US government theft of Lakota Sioux lands to build this ugly-ass monument and demand that Eaglecrest be relocated?”

Steve hoisted his picket sign skyward. “Always.”

 

 

**_MARVEL EAGLECREST AND THE RED SOLO CUP OF FIREBALL_ **

_[Marvel Eaglecrest theme music plays]_

 

“Hold it, hold it just a little bit longer.” Natasha Romanoff, Head Girl of Shrugstagram, tapped her phone to bring Head Boy Clint Barton into focus. Clint was currently balancing the tip of his wand on his nose while he stood beneath the Eaglecrest main entrance, where founder Betsy Ross’s immortal words spanned the entranceway:

 

**E PLURIBUS WHOOPASS**

 

“Hurry up,” Clint said through gritted teeth.

Natasha grinned and spent an extra few seconds adjusting the color balance just for that. “Aaaaand snapped. Good work, Barton.”

Clint snatched his wand, twirled it, and slotted it in his backpack like it was an arrow in a sheath. Then he crowded around Natasha to sneak a look at the photo. “Let me see.”

She shouldered him away. “You can see it on Snapchat when everyone else does.”

“Not fair. I should get final approval.”

“You forget Laxdisick is my minor,” Natasha said. “Fair’s got nothing to do with it.” She clicked Post.

“Move it, fives, tens coming through.” Tony Stark shouldered his way around Clint and Natasha. “Well, I’m a ten. Rhodey, you’re more like a . . . nine point five.”

James Rhodes raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

“—Eight. Nine point eight. See, you’re getting there.” Tony patted his shoulder. “Puberty is hard on all of us.”

“I’m amazed you could fit your ego around Justitopia’s protest,” Natasha said.

“Oh, they’re still going strong. Scaring off the saggy tourists, at least. Never let it be said they don’t offer a public service.” Tony tugged at the white unitard he wore underneath his seersucker slacks and blazer. “God, these things are terrible.”

“The seersucker’s a nice touch,” Clint said. “Still angling for Laxdisick Head Boy?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Please. I’m not _that_ ambitious. Loki can keep it. Nice balancing work, though, Barton. You can always try for the circus if the wizarding gig doesn’t work out for you.” He flashed a peace sign, and headed inside.

Clint pulled his wand out of his sheathe and pantomimed casting a tranmogrification spell on Tony.

“Sorry. He’s, uh . . . still working through a lot of guilt after what happened last year,” Rhodey said.

“Oh, when he tried to kill us?” Clint asked. “That must be real tough for him.”

Rhodey shrugged and turned to head in. “See you all at the Commencement Buffet.”

As Rhodey left, Clint propped his chin on Natasha’s shoulders. “Mm, buffet.”

“All you can eat.” She patted his head. “Same as last year.”

“Our first year they brought in pizza through the wormhole to that dude’s basement in Martha’s Vineyard. Do you remember that? Man, I wish they’d do that again.”

Natasha continued scrolling through her Instagram feed. “I heard a rumor there’s going to be a big announcement tonight. Some kind of contest.”

“Sounds like it might require effort. I’ll take a hard pass.”

Natasha grinned. “It might be fun. Depending on what it is, anyway.”

She shrugged Clint off her shoulder, tucked her phone into her bag, and stood up, adjusting her skirt. Natasha fully embraced the unitard requirement, wearing one in a deep shade of turquoise, paired with iridescent tights, a gauzy purple skirt, and blue ballet flats, she looked somewhere between a mood ring-colored ballerina and a peacock. Clint, on the other hand, was prone to ditching his purple sweatpants entirely and striking lascivious poses around the school in his black unitard and purple belt, baring his hairy legs and butt cheeks for all to see.

“Maybe you can put in the effort for all of us Shruggers,” Clint said. “Make our house look good.”

“Shrugstagram for life.” She bumped his fist, then looped her arm around his shoulders to head inside.

 

_[Shrugstagram theme song,_ [ _“Slow Down” by Morcheeba_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arCkXlfEpjY) _, plays]_

 

 

After the protest, Steve hauled his duffel bag through the entrance to the Justitopia house quarters inside Abraham Lincoln’s problematic jaw and paid his proper respects to the portrait of Eugene V. Debs (“I have no country to fight for; my country is the earth; I am a citizen of the world”), he headed toward the rafters outside the dormitory, just beneath Lincoln’s left set of molars. The rest of Justitopia were still outside debating just where in America Eaglecrest could be moved to that would be the most ethically sound but economically accessible for all students, while the other houses were celebrating move-in day with a dance party (Bluthyoncé), networking happy hour (Laxdisick), or naptime and a showing of _Grandma’s Boy_ (Shrugstagram). But inside the sixteenth president’s mandible, the silence pressed down on Steve. Hydra’s agents were still out there, after all, and even though Bucky was alive, his time under the Imperius Curse clearly weighed on him.

“Bucky?” Steve called, up into the rafters. “I know you’re up there.”

There was a beleaguered sigh, then Bucky’s head appeared from over a rafter’s edge.

“I know you’re scared. And you have every right to be. The Mark of Hydra isn’t an easy thing to erase.” Steve stiffened his jaw. “But you’re more than your wounds.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

Steve locked eyes with him. “Well, it’s your choice now.”

“You don’t have to make me another of your causes, Steve. Remember what Professor Zola, our Predictions and Predilections teacher, told you?”

“Before we found out that the reason he looked like an evil server farm from the 1970s is because he was an evil server farm from the 1970s?”

“Yeah.” Bucky smiled sadly. “He told you that you were made to suffer.”

“But that I’d be happy about it!” Steve added. “That part’s important.”

“That’s Steve in a nutshell, all right. You always did like getting punched.” Bucky swung his legs over the edge of the rafters and lowered himself down to the ground. “Fine. I’ll make an effort—for you.” He scrubbed his metal hand over Steve’s hair. “Can’t go letting you get yourself killed trying to take on all the Hydra wizards all alone.”

Steve grinned and pulled him into a hug. “Thanks.”

 

_[Justitopia theme song,_ [ _“B.Y.O.B.” by System of a Down_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zUzd9KyIDrM) _, plays]_

 

The Eaglecrest dining hall, located in a scenic vista behind Teddy Roosevelt’s mustache, was designed to reflect the Eaglecrest populace. Glittering chandeliers and bright pop-art portraits picked by Bluthyoncé House founder Mindy Kaling. Tasteful white floral arrangements in high-stem vases and summer house-cool place settings in homage to Laxdisick founder Martha Stewart. Organically grown and environmentally sustainable food service featuring vegetables grown in the Justitopia gardens and served by a team from a prison work rehabilitation program paid a living wage. And rows and rows of beanbags as an alternative to the round cafeteria tables, as Snoop, Shrugstagram’s founder, would have wanted.

After loading their trays with everything from chocolate pancakes to fried chicken, Tex-Mex fusion sushi rolls, soft-serve ice cream, moules frites, injera bread, bibimbap, and a refreshing salad of beet, walnut, and goat cheese, Steve, Bucky, and Sam sat at their usual Justitopia table. Maria Hill, the Head Girl, swallowed a mouthful of seitan and jabbed her fork at Steve. “Hey, cowboy. You hear about the competition?”

Steve shook his head. “What is it?”

“Dunno, but Joe’s supposed to make a big announcement. Wanna plan a protest?”

“Let’s wait to hear what it’s about first,” Steve said.

“Will do.” Maria glanced toward Bucky, swirling her fork in the air. “Hey, stranger.”

“Hey.” Bucky managed a half-smile. “Sorry I, uh, tried to kill you in Year Two.”

“Don’t worry about it. Wasn’t your fault. The only people to blame are those _fascist_ Hydra wizards, and the corrupt institutions and levers of power that allow them to fester unchecked—”

Sam held up his hand. “But we’re going to find a way to stop them, aren’t we?”

“Damn right,” Maria said. “Don’t care if we have to build an army of our own. We could call it . . . Eugene V. Debs’s Army.”

“Too many syllables,” Steve said.

“Too militaristic,” Sharon Carter added, setting down her tray. “Why are we forming an army again?”

“To stop Hydra,” Sam said. “Since the fascists who run the Magic Union won’t.”

“Okay, I can break my conscientious objector status for that. Count me in.”

 

 

_[Laxdisick theme song,_ [ _“Scarface (Push It to the Limit)” by Peter Engemann_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9D-QD_HIfjA) _, plays]_

“What are those hempmunchers plotting now?” Tony asked, at the main Laxdisick table. “If they try to shut down one of our badminton courts again because of migratory bird patterns or whatever—”

“They’re harmless. Let them have their fun,” Rhodey said.

Tony stabbed his beef carpaccio with a fork. “Harmless? I’m sorry, is that not the guy who was straight-up murdering people a few years back? One of these days they’re going to piss off Hydra more than usual and get us all killed.”

“The Magic Union is taking care of it, I’m sure,” Rhodey said.

“Yeah, yeah. Trust in the rule of law, and all that.” Tony scowled. “Speaking of, Diamond Joe has yet to make an appearance.”

He gestured toward the row of tables where the professors sat in front of the panoramic picture window revealed the rolling Dakota hills. Professor Jones, who taught Masterful Mixology and also a self-defense clinic for the girls at Eaglecrest, was chatting with Professor Cage, who taught Regenerative Spells. Professor Strange, the Illusions Michael instructor, was idly toying with a new illusion in his palms. But Joe’s La-Z-Boy was empty.

“None of the Bluthyoncé kids are here yet, either,” Rhodey pointed out. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Bluthyoncé is always fifteen minutes late with complicated Starbucks orders. It’s just how they roll.” Tony checked his watch. “In fact, I expect they’ll be making their arrival in three . . . two . . .”

Tony pointed toward the main dining hall doors, and suddenly the enchanted chandeliers began to scintillate with shades of orange and pink. The doors flew open in a cascade of silver glitter.

 

_[Bluthyoncé theme song,_ [ _“Diva” by Beyoncé_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNM5HW13_O8) _, plays]_

 

One by one, the Bluthyoncé students filed in, carrying out their choreographed dance. At the lead was Thor, the Bluthyoncé Head Boy, carrying pitchers of swirling, glowing cocktails that sparkled like galaxies. His beard was flecked with pink glitter, matching the twinkle in his eye, and as the dance number ended, he began to distribute the pitchers to all of the dining hall tables.

“Greetings, Tony. James.” He grinned as he set the drink down. “Care for a bit of Bifrost and Brandy?”

“I think I’m still over the BAC limit from the drink you made us last May,” Tony replied.

“Asgardian alcohol is designed with Asgardians in mind,” Thor said. “But I’ve done my best to make it more appealing to your . . . mortal palate.”

“Thanks. You’re a real champ.” As Thor left to deliver a drink to the Shrugstagram table, Tony turned to Rhodey. “How do Thor and Loki even qualify to attend this school? Don’t they have wizardry schools over the rainbow bridge?”

“I think it’s some kind of student visa,” Rhodey said.

“Simpler than that.” Loki, the Laxdisick head boy, set his tray down beside Tony. “We heard Eaglecrest was the best. And so we settled for nothing less.”

“Not sporting our house colors? Tut tut. Though the black unitard and green waistcoat are a nice combo. Really sets off your, uh . . . antlers?”

“Those,” Rhodey said, “are horns.”

Tony threw up his hands. “Oh, because that makes so much more sense.”

Loki flicked his wand, and his outfit transformed into one identical to Tony’s. As did his face. “Is this what you think a Head Boy should look like? Because that’s what I hear.”

Tony leaned back, mouth working. “I—I said nothing of the sort.”

Loki-Tony smiled thinly. “Glad to hear it.” Another flick of his wand, and he returned to himself wearing a more casual Laxdisick look, better suited for post-regatta cocktails at a garden party. “I’d hate to have to take you seriously for once. But if the situation demands it . . . I shall.”

At the Justitopia table, Sam stared in bewilderment at the Bluthyoncé Head Girl, a white girl with dark hair he was _certain_ he’d never seen before, though most of the dining hall seemed to be staring at her. “Who even is she? Is that the Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way I keep hearing about?”

Steve followed his gaze. “Oh, her. Darcy something? She’s attended maybe three classes in four years, but apparently half the school is in love with her, or at least, that’s what the school Yikyak claims.”

Sam shook his head. “Sounds like some kind of love potion to me.”

“Attention, attention, attention.”

All heads swiveled to the front of the dining hall. An imposing man in an eyepatch strode in, hands clasped behind his back.

“Isn’t that some agency director of something something?” Tony whispered to Rhodey.

“SHIELD, I think. Another one of Biden’s buddies.”

“Oh, because that went so well last time he put one of them in charge.”

“Did I stutter? I said, _attention_!”

With a flick of his wand, the man dampened all sound in the room and shone a spotlight on himself. Tony sighed and folded his arms.

“My name is Nicholas J. Fury, and I will be serving as your Acting Headmaster for the next few months. Diamond Joe had a deal go south, and he’s gotta lay low for a while. Kick it around in Mexico. He’ll be back once the heat is off.” Fury tugged at the lapels of his jacket. “Until that time, you’ll have to deal with me.”

At the Justitopia table, Steve and Sam exchanged a look over Bucky’s head, but Bucky spoke up. “No. Don’t. He’s not one of them.” He grimaced. “At least, not of the Hydra cultists that I saw.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s clear,” Steve said. “We’ve got to keep an eye on him regardless.”

“I have several announcements to make today, but let’s start with the simple one. All year long, we have representatives of other wizarding schools around the world joining us. I expect you all to give them a warm welcome.” Fury beckoned toward Professor Potts, who carried an armful of bouquets from the herbalism greenhouses. “First, from the Sokovian School, we have Wanda and Pietro Maximoff.”

The twins waved nervously from the back of the dining hall, then shuffled up to accept the flowers from Potts.

“Where the hell is Sokovia?” Sam asked under his breath.

“And from the Wakanda school, we have Prince T’Challa,” Fury said.

T’Challa stepped forward to accept his flowers, and Natasha followed him with her phone. “Prince, you say . . .”

“Down, girl,” Clint said.

“Oh, no, not like that. Just thinking what putting him on Instagram could do for my follower count, is all.”

“And finally, Margaret Carter, who is here representing Hogwarts,” Fury continued.

Numerous groans arose around the dining hall. “Didn’t they vote to leave the Magic Union?” someone asked.

“Please,” she said, as she accepted the bouquet. “It’s Peggy.”

“I understand you’re a Slytherin,” Loki said, straightening the popped collar on his polo shirt. “I’m the head boy of Laxdisick, and I think you’ll find we have much in common.”

Peggy looked him up and down. “I doubt I have much in common with anyone wearing boat shoes.”

Loki answered with an oil-slick grin. “They all kneel before me in the end. I think you’ll look especially pretty when you do.”

Anger flashed like lightning across Peggy’s face. “Mr. Jarvis?”

Peggy’s valet rushed forward to seize her bouquet. “Holding your flowers, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

In an instant, Peggy jammed the spike of her heel into the bared skin of Loki’s foot arch, then brought her knee up directly into his groin. He reached for his wand, but his salmon shorts were too tight, and his hand got stuck. Too slow. Peggy drove her forearm against his throat and slammed him back against the dining table and brought her wand down toward his face, the point stopping mere centimeters from his eyeball.

The entire hall had fallen completely silent; even Loki didn’t protest, instead holding his palms up in surrender.

“Don’t speak to me again,” Peggy said, through gritted teeth. “Are we understood?”

“Understood,” he wheezed.

She released him and straightened up with a smile. “Excellent.” Then she retrieved her bouquet from Jarvis and beckoned for Fury to continue.

“And now, for the reason we’ve brought these students here,” Fury said. “This year, Eaglecrest is going to host the All-Wizard Invitational Cage Match, Wizard Mathlete Hacking Challenge and Venture Capital Award, and Ultimate Ninja Wizard Obstacle Course.”

Sharon stared at the other Justitopia students. “Oh, no. I’ve heard about this. There’s, like, three deaths average every year. Especially in the Hacking Challenge.”

“We have to protest it,” Sam said.

“I dunno. Seems like it might attract a lot of attention. To Eaglecrest, and the participants both,” Steve said.

“Yeah, but from who? Hydra?” Bucky asked. “I’m not sure that’s the kind of attention we want to draw.”

“Pretty sure Eaglecrest is in the center of their crosshairs regardless.” Steve drummed his fingers against the table. “If they’re going to come for us . . . at least this time, we can be ready.”

Fury cleared his throat over the din of chattering students. “If anyone wants to put themselves forward as a candidate for the tournament, then write your name down and toss it in the Goblet of Fire. The goblet will select one and only one Eaglecrest student to represent our school in the challenges, where they will win a pat on the back and a couple of points for their house for themselves, and a shitload of endorsement deals for the school.”

“That,” Tony said, pointing to the pedestal where the goblet sat, “is not a goblet.”

“It’s the Goblet of Fire,” Fury said, crossing his arms.

“It looks like a red Solo cup. And it’s full of . . . is that Fireball I smell? Rhodey, do you know? Maybe it’s rumchata. I can’t keep up with all these newfangled liquers.”

“Stark . . .” Fury warned.

“The wine stem on the Solo cup is a nice touch, though,” Tony said. “It really classes it up.”

“ _FOR FUCK’S SAKE, STARK, JUST PUT YOUR GODDAMN NAME IN THE MOTHERFUCKING CUP BEFORE I HAVE TO PUT MY FOOT UP YOUR ASS!!!_ ” Fury said calmly.

Natasha kept her phone focused on Fury for a moment longer, then lowered it. “Aaaaand Vined.”

“Really, Tash? Does the phrase ‘nondisclosure agreement’ mean nothing to you?” Tony asked.

Natasha cracked her gum. “Nope.”

“I say we do it,” Steve said. “We enter, and no matter who’s selected, we back them up. Draw out any Hydra agents lured in.”

Bucky looked between Sam and Steve, then nodded slowly. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Steve pulled a sheet of paper out of his bag and tore it into three strips for them to write their names. “Maria?” he asked. “Sharon?”

Maria shook her head. “One of us has to lead the protest.”

Sharon lifted her eyebrows. “Oh, I’m entering.”

“Really?” Sam asked. “Doesn’t really seem like your scene.”

“I’ve got to do something for myself. Otherwise the writers will shove me in some half-baked romance and then forget I exist for the rest of Year Four.”

Steve shuddered. “That sounds awful.”

“Tell me about it,” Sharon said.

“Crap, my quill’s out of ink.” Bucky turned toward Sam. “Can I borrow your pen?”

“I didn’t bring a pen,” Sam said, as he wrote his name on a scrap of paper.

Bucky blinked at him. “Dude. You’re literally using one—”

Redwing, Sam’s falcon familiar, squawked and stretched his wings, glowering at Bucky until Bucky gave up and turned back to Steve.

Slowly, the students of Eaglecrest trickled up toward the front of the dining hall to drop their names in the Solo cup. In all, about a third of the student body put their names forward, though Laxdisick in particular held a strong showing. Fury watched with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Last call, kids. Anyone, anyone.” Fury nodded. “All right, then. ‘Goblet of Fire, spit up a name,’ some shit about spells and rhyming, I don’t remember exactly, who’s gonna be the Eaglecrest champion?’”

The lights in the dining hall dimmed, and the Solo cup began to glow a sickly shade of gold, like cheap beer. It bubbled up and overflowed, spilling down the pedestal, making the whole hall smell like that dude in Martha’s Vineyard’s basement that gave everyone lockjaw.

Then the bubbling stopped, and the cup belched up a scrap of paper.

“Gross,” Rhodey said. “Are we sure we want to trust that thing’s judgment?”

Fury snatched the paper out of the air as it fluttered back down, then groaned to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. Everyone leaned forward.

“Congratulations. Your Eaglecrest candidate for the All-Wizard Invitational is . . .” He gritted his teeth. “Tony Stark.”

The Laxdisick table managed some subdued fistbumps and awkward shoulder-hugs, while the rest of the student body sighed. “Yeah,” Rhodey said, “definitely not trusting that thing’s judgment. Congrats, though.”

“Of course it’s the richest fucking white dude in the whole school,” Maria said, at the Justitopia table. “Like he needs the help.”

Then the cup began bubbling over again.

Tony paused, halfway toward the front of the dining hall. “Uh, is it supposed to do that?”

Fury shrugged. “It’s not like they left a fucking instruction manual.”

“Have you tried turning it on and off? I can take it back to my shop—”

“A little cranial recalibration never hurts,” Natasha said, filming Tony again. “Ooh, no, make that pitiful face you were making a moment ago.”

Tony covered her phone camera with his hand.

The cup bubbled up again, and belched up yet another scrap of paper. Fury stared at it for a moment before plucking it, too, out of the air.

“Um . . . Sorry, kids, but I don’t really know if there’s any sort of precedent for this . . .”

Peggy Carter stepped forward from the Laxdisick table. “Actually, sir, it’s happened once before. I believe the ruling was to permit all students selected by the goblet to participate.”

“Now wait a minute, whose side are you on?” Tony asked. “Slytherin and Laxdisick, we’re supposed to work together—”

“What’s the matter,” Peggy said, “afraid of a little more competition?”

Fury shot them a look. “Then in that case . . . looks like Eaglecrest will be fielding two participants. Stark, get your ass up here for the photo op.”

Tony straightened his seersucker blazer and joined Peggy, Wanda, Pietro, and T’Challa at the front of the dining hall.

“The second Eaglecrest contender for the All-Wizard Invitational is . . .” Fury peered out at the dining hall. “Steve Rogers.”

“ _Another_ white boy?” Rhodey said. “Are you kidding me?”

“Now, Rhodey. You know Eaglecrest has a remarkable commitment to diversity in, uh, secondary and tertiary characters,” Natasha said as she filmed. “They’ve even pledged to have a non-white Head of House sometime within the next century.”

Tony glared at Steve across the dining hall. Steve offered him a sheepish shrug, dimples sprouting in his cheeks, and made his way to the front of the banquet hall. “Stark,” Steve said, with a bob of his head.

“How did you do that?” Tony asked. “Curse? Bribery? That isn’t very Justitopia of you, Rogers.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Steve shrugged. “The goblet just wanted us both in the competition, I guess.”

“Yeah, well, picking names out of a cup of Fireball hardly seems like a fair selection process. What are we even being evaluated on—”

“Are you done?” Fury asked.

“And for that matter, how do we know that any of this is legit?” Tony pointed to Fury. “You waltz in here, telling us Diamond Joe sent you our way. I don’t see any Magic Union reps vouching for you. This whole competition could be a sham.”

“Oh, you want to see my credentials, is that it?” Fury asked. “Because I will be more than happy to demonstrate a few choice spells on your ass.”

Tony held up his hands. “All I’m saying is, _given what we’ve already been through_ , maybe a little caution is warranted?”

“Come on, Tony. It’s our duty to see this through.” Steve held out his hand to shake. “Believe me, we find out something’s up, I’ll be the first one throwing the punch.”

Tony crossed his arms. “Sometimes I want to punch you in your perfect teeth. With my teeth. And mouth. And—”

Natasha’s grin deepened. “Aaaaand Snapchatted.”

“What?” Steve asked, flustered.

“I said I want to punch you! Shut up!” Tony huffed. “Sorry. I was reading the some of the Eaglecrest RPF and . . . god, there’s some weird stuff on there. You’re all a bunch of sickos,” Tony said, sweeping his hand toward the dining hall. “I don’t even think lube works like that.”

“Are you quite done, Stark?” Fury asked.

Tony dropped his shoulders, still glowering at Steve. “Sure. Fine. Let’s get on with the dog and pony show. Maybe we can show off our spells from Illusions Michael or something.”

“I’ve heard Eaglecrest plays a mean game of Quidditch,” Peggy said, beaming. “I’d love to put that to the test.”

“We play real Quidditch, American Quidditch,” Tony said. “None of that Ringpop crap.”

“Oh, I suppose brooms are too refined for you.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Fury said, “the All-Wizard Invitational will start tomorrow. Observers from the Magic Union will arrive then to walk you through the rules and have you sign the release forms. So I suggest you all get a good night’s rest.”

“Actually,” Tony said, “I’m not done.”

Everyone groaned.

“No, no, hear me out.” Tony paced in front of the platform. “If I were Hydra, and I wanted to get all the up and coming wizards, brightest of their age, in one place—what would I do? I’d hold a big fancy tournament, tell them how special they are.”

Steve exchanged a look with Bucky and Sam back at the Justitopia table. “Maybe we could talk about this later, Tony?”

“What are you afraid of?” Tony asked. “Come on, Hydra. You want at Eaglecrest, you’ll have to go through me first.”

“Tony . . .” Steve said.

“Or maybe this is all part of your plan. Is that it, Steve? Your boyfriend’s still got a Hydra mark etched onto that freaky metal arm of his.” Tony sneered. “In fact, I heard a rumor that you’re hiding a Hydra mark yourself.”

“Goddammit. Where’s that Spencer kid? Is that little shit spreading his stupid rumor _again_?” Steve groaned. “For the last time. We’re not Hydra.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Tony turned to Natasha. “What’s the matter? Not going to post _that_ on the Internet?”

Natasha scowled at him. “You’re being a dick.”

“Yeah, well, what else is new.”

“I have an idea,” Thor said.

Fury sighed. “Well, go have it somewhere else. I’m gonna eat my damn dinner.”

Thor beckoned Steve, Tony, and Natasha over. “Perhaps a friendly wager is the way to resolve your dispute.”

“I don’t know about friendly,” Tony said, “but I’m game.”

Sam and Bucky came to join Steve. “Is there a problem?” Sam asked.

“Relax, bird boy. We’re just arranging a not-so-friendly wager. Rogers? Are you in?”

Steve hesitated. “What are the stakes?”

“Just a little something to sweeten the Invitational pot. Loser has to drink a polyjuice potion to turn into Trump, or something,” Tony said.

“How about if I win, you stop accusing us of being with Hydra, and actually help us stop them for once? Instead of giving them free reign of Eaglecrest, like last year.”

Tony scowled. “Deal.”

“I’m in.” Sam extended his wand. “A hundred bucks on Steve.”

“Twenty bucks on Steve,” Bucky said, extending his wand. When Sam scowled at him, he said, “What? It’s all I’ve got.”

“Fifty bucks on Steve,” Clint said, joining the group, “and half my stash of Redbull.”

“Wow, really pulling out all the stops,” Natasha said.

“Now wait a minute. No one’s bet on me yet.” Tony threw his hands out to his sides. “I’m calling foul.”

“I got you, Tony. Fifty bucks,” Rhodey said.

“Fifty,” Tony echoed. “You’re betting beneath Barton.”

Rhodey shrugged. “Fine. And a bottle of Laphroaig.”

“I’ll wager on Tony,” Vision said—the creepy sparkly guy from Bluthyoncé. “Make my wager match whatever Steven’s side proposes.”

“And I’ll put down a hundred bucks,” Natasha said.

Clint stared at her. “On Steve, right?”

“Nope!” She cracked her gum. “On Tony.”

Clint staggered back. “You monster!”

“Just keeping things interesting.”

“A house divided,” Tony said. “Watch out, Shrugstagram.”

“Does anyone even know what tomorrow’s Invitational challenge is?” Steve asked.

Peggy Carter approached the group, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “Are you asking about tomorrow’s challenge? You mean you’ve never seen an All-Wizard Invitational before?”

Tony sighed. “Do we look like we have nothing better to do than watch the wizardly antics off in Merrye Olde Englande?”

“Well you ought to,” Peggy said. “Especially if you’re dealing with a wizard cultist infestation. We rather wrote the spellbook on dealing with those.”

“All right, so what’s the challenge, then?” Clint asked.

She smiled thinly and scryed a spell in front of her, producing an image of wizards zipping around a massive stadium on brooms. “Why, one-on-one sudden death Quidditch, but of course.” With a snap, the image dispelled. “Or should I say, Ringpop?” She wiggled her fingers at them and started to back away. “Cheers.”

Tony groaned. “Why do I get the feeling neither one of us are going to win?”

“Cheer up, Tony.” Steve elbowed him. “Maybe you can make a new familiar to compete for you.”

Tony groaned, then cast an alertness spell on himself. Time to study up on the rules of European Quidditch. “It’s going to be a long year.”

 


End file.
